


A Song for a Witch

by Star_Nymph



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Crushes, F/F, Fat Warden, Getting to Know Each Other, Pining, Singing, Trans Female Character, Trans Warden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 06:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14563113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Nymph/pseuds/Star_Nymph
Summary: Morrigan takes the time to chat with Seren around the fire on one silent night at the risk of being serenaded.





	A Song for a Witch

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be short and far less gay, but hey, I guess Seren really had a lot to say about her crush on the Goth Lady. I'm not too happy with the writing style in this fic, I've been feeling way too unbalanced lately but I'm happy I finally got something out. 
> 
> (Also you have no idea how tempted I was to call this 'Campfire Song Song')
> 
> If you have any comments or helpful tips please feel free to write something. I’ll definitely appreciate the feedback! Thank you for reading!

There is little noise this far out in the forest except for what comes from their small camp. Snaps of the fire, the chirp of the crickets, the rumble of Thristan's and Oghren's battling snores, and the repeated scrap of her flint across her sword’s edge. Oh, and her own voice but she hardly thought of that as noise. Seren hummed along to the memory of old melodies in her head, the lyrics of her ballads a much more pleasant thing to focus on than the scratch of stone against steel. It kept out the quiet, too.

Anything, even absolute drivel, was better than gnawing quiet.

Seren whistled a note as she bent over her greatsword, heavy and unsteady on her crossed legs, working to scratch away the nicks in the middle of the blade. “…aaaa. Aaa… _I wish_ …” She sung under her breath, “… _youder hill. ‘Tis there I sit and cry my fill…Til every tear would turn a mill. Go. Go. Go, my love_ …”

The sword wobbled on her knee and teetered to the side as she skit her stone quickly across it. It hit the grass with a dull ting and a hushed swear from its owner. “Oh, _sod_ off.” Seren muttered crossly, squinting in the darkness as she picked it up and ran her fingers over it. It was a skinny, swallow scratch but she could feel it under the brush of thumb and when she lifted it over head in the fire light, she saw it wink silver at her mockingly.

Oh, bother her. She was almost through with that side, too.

Twisting her pursed mouth this way and that, Seren shook her head. What’s it even matter? She had the next three hours alone—until Alistair woke up to take over for guard duty. Might as well spend it worrying her blade down to a hair thin sham of what it was. She scrubbed her tired eyes, smearing her brow with sword oil and dust. Down on her lap again came the sword, hilt held firm in the left hand as she brought the stone with her right and started the slow, monotonous pace again—and with it, she hummed that melody until her lips formed the words.

“ _Go quietly and go peacefully_. _Go to the door and fly with me. I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel, I'll sell my only spinning wheel, to buy my love a sword of steel. Go. Go. Go, my love…”_

The fire lingered around her in the shapes of shadows on her face, keeping her company while the rest of her mates slept in—save for one other who sat off on their own until they could keep to themselves no longer. She heard the soft pad of footsteps in the darkness as she sang, eyes on her back as something cautious and as keen as a cat and all too familiar slinked behind her.

“Singing once more.” The shape drawled on with her voice of velvet— _no_ , of ink oozing from a bottle, smooth and languid. She spoke like a poem on a piece of parchment. “Tis not a moment where I will ever find you silent, I imagine.”

A secret grin played on Seren’s voice, hidden under her hair, as she peered up at the woman above her, “Good evening, Morri. Did I wake you?”

Ah, and there was the famed sneer she so loved to see. Morrigan had a special one reserved only for the nickname; it had a certain kind of disgust and defeat that just tickled the warden down to her toes. Still, if the witch disliked it so much, she could ask her to stop. She never did, however, nor did she do so at the present. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared down at the spot by Seren’s side expectantly, waiting for the woman to make room by the fire for her.

Seren readily scooted, patting the spot with all the care of a feathered cushion.

Morrigan sunk down and went on, “I was awake, little as it mattered. Your incessant voice would no doubt haunt me in the Fade as it does in the day.”

Seren was careful to keep the blade straight, edging the tip down to the floor as to not slice Morrigan accidentally. She breathed a soft laugh and blew the hair from her mouth, “You say ‘haunt’ but I would say it is a gift. Or would you desire I drone on dreary sonnets instead?” She eyed Morrigan cheekily and cleared her throat, “ _Oo, woe is me, my life a dark tomb, bleak and sorrowful, a torturous ocean of blood is all I can see, la la la la._ ” She threw her hand over her forehead dramatically, her lips fighting against forming into a tiny but smug smirk.

Morrigan cared little for it. In the firelight, her golden eyes flashed and rolled to the sky, “I would rather you not speak at all. Tis silence such an affront to you?”

Seren eyed the forest, rather than the woman beside her, for that’s where she knew the silence crept—and she eyed it with a twinge of defense, as if she could glare away what she could otherwise not see. She titled the blade to the light, the scratch still there.

“I've never got on a well with it.” She said glibly, “Makes for quite the impolite dinner guest.”

“Perhaps you do not take the time to understand it—or you lack the sensibility to do so.” Morrigan countered and stared off into the same darkness as she had, at the same silence, but hers was a fondness Seren did not have.

“As you say.” Seren said in a sing-song voice, her hand going for the sack at her side. She was a bit puckish; that time of night and all. Lucky for her she had some spared dried meats for Thristan from the last town they had visited. It would do her over until breakfast. Taking out a hulking piece, she tore the jerked meat into two wedges and chewed down on the one left in her mouth.

The other she offered to Morrigan. “Want?”

The woman eyeballed the slice dubiously, even appearing to flinch away in disgust. It wasn’t the meat itself—it was not as if she hadn’t eaten stranger things than dried dog treats—only the intention behind it. She saw it in the Morrigan’s face; the wonder of the trick, the question of if the kindness was true, when the rug would be pulled out from under her.

After a huff Morrigan took it, mumbling a begrudging ‘thank you…’ and Seren ignored how her voice strained. Instead, only she smiled again, perhaps catching sight of a fleeting smile on the other’s face. Beautiful, if she did, like everything else she was.

 “So,” she said between tough bites, “why did you come to brightened my fire with your presence, oh _sensible_ one? Could it be the silence _bored_ you?”

“I came to—hng—“ Morrigan yanked off another chunk and slapped her lips together as she chewed, “to—stop your infernal singing. Tis all night with you and your dribble of love. Leliana at least drones on about other things.”

That caught Seren’s attention and it took only a second for Morrigan to close her eyes, regretting the choice of words instantly but it was too late. The other girl was leering at her, lips curling up to her eyes with a grin that held all the mischievous nature of a fox catching a mouse by the tail.

“Dear me, that implies you’ve been _listening_ to us. How intriguing.”

In the low light, it was difficult to make out shadows from the orange hues but Seren was positive Morrigan was blushing, spying just maybe a hint of pink on her cheeks. How precious. “I…may do so when the night is late and the fire is dim. How can I not when you two insist on doing so every night? Quite annoying.”

Seren chuckled to herself, “Mmhm, whatever you say.” Ah, but it fluttered her stomach to think the witch would listen to her songs. It made her wonder if she might like the songs she sings or that she might like her voice, that it lingered her dreams for another reason.

That she might _like_ her—even just a small bit.

But then—Oh, no, nevermind. Shake that ridiculous thought right out of your head, Seren. Don’t go daydreaming over impossible notions with women who scoffed at everything she said and did.

Seren shoved the rest of the meat into her mouth and took up her sword and stone again. It was better to stare at other things—less gorgeous and thorny things—for a while; kept those silly ideas from growing into nonsense. 

She scrapped, scrapped, scrapped as Morrigan watched the fire and finished her snack.

Seren took her time swallowing before she spoke again, “I know many songs, not all of which are about love. Those are merely the ones that come fastest to my mind. If it pleases you I _could_ sing of grand adventures instead.”

Morrigan looked at her from the corner of her eye, “And you keep all these songs locked in your head and recall them perfectly?”

“As well as any spell you may recall--but I keep them in my heart.”

Morrigan snorted.

Seren let her eyes dart from the safety of her sword to Morrigan’s face as she asked, “Flemeth did not teach you many songs, did she?”

Morrigan met her starry blue eyes with her own brilliant gold, her glare sharp and dangerous. If Seren was a lesser soul or perhaps knew an inkling of fear for this woman in her bones, she might have stumbled an apology. _Mothers_ , after all, were meant to be off limits.

But Seren didn’t falter and Morrigan knew her to be harmless, at least in this matter. Her shoulders relaxed as she sighed and looked at the sky, “Did she seem the type? Singing at a giggling infant and dancing about? No, she did not. It was not her way…” For a moment, Morrigan’s stone expression became sad, yearning for a memory she never had, “…if there were one of two…” then she sealed it back away, bringing her eyes down to the ground, and shook her head, “but, no, I do not recall.”

“I see.” Seren said quietly and peered down at the silver hilt resting on her palm, “Songs were—no, still _are_ —the way of my life. My father was a bard. Or, that’s what he would have been if duty had allowed him such things. He collected all he could and those he did not have bound in a book, he sang to me—as did my Nan. I have known many songs as well as any blade I have ever held.”

There was a sensation in her chest as she spoke. Not an ache, not a pain, but an inflation. As if speaking made her heart expand, trying to break from her chest, away from the mentions of her old life. The cracking of the fire made a cold sweat drip down her spine, the memories of blazing fire and her parents’ last words still fresh in her mind. She shut herself to it and tried to ignore it.

“But the songs. Do you truly know them? Are any of them yours?” Morrigan asked.

“What a question. Are the spells you use yours?”

“Some, yes.”

Seren nodded, taking a pause as she shifted the sword better on her lap. “Some I have made off the top of my head, though not as well as Leliana. That talent escapes me, as it does many others. I had a bard gift me with a song once but it was a shoddy bit of work. I scarcely remember it… _There once was a maid of Highever, with eyes of blue and mind so clever…da da da da...”_

“Oooh, how delightful. I expect you broke it joyous tears. Such is the way for one as softhearted as she is righteous." Morrigan tittered, smiling wickedly.

Seren squinted at her, “I do have _some_ taste."

"So you say but then I see you converse with Alistair and I ponder."

She laughed and then a thought occurred to her, "Hey, do you think someone might have written a song for you?”

Morrigan blinked and arched her brow, “What?”

“What better muse for a bard than a Witch of the Wild? You have terrorized dozens of men, have you not? That’s usually enough for a bard to mull over a ballad or two.”

“Nonsense.”

“Not so. The best tales were birthed from fear, I say.” Seren wagged her finger. Then she tapped her chin, drawing her tongue along the rigged of her teeth thoughtfully, “Let me see if I can…mmm…hmmm…”

“What? What are you doing? Stop it.”

“Shush…I composing…la la la…” She said and then, wistfully, she began to sing.

 _“Oh, Witch of the Wilds_  
I am so beguiled  
Lost in the woods  
Trapped in your eyes  
You ask for my heart  
Smiling so pretty  
And how can I resist  
Take it without pity.”

It wasn’t much, as she explained she lacked the talent, but she sang it with all she had. Breathing out slowly and floating down from the place all songs took her, Seren turned Morrigan and found her staring at her as if she had never seen her before. Her eyes were wide, hazed and unreadable as they burned into Seren as well as any fire could, her attention a flame licking at Seren’s fluttered heart.

It was as if she suddenly found her new and fascinating; a secret she had stumbled upon or an uncovered spell in her spell book.

Seren swallowed hard and finally asked her softly, “Well, what do you think?”

The question yanked Morrigan out of her trance. Her head jolted upright, eyes blinking until she found herself again and once she did, she scowled and averted her eyes, “That—was appalling. My ears bleed.”

Ha, of course. And here Seren thought they might be having a moment. Silly here.

Seren placed a hand over her heart and feigned offence, “Oh, you wound me, dearest Morri. I sang that with _love_.”

Morrigan tsked, “Then sing with less—or, never again. Twas a horrid attempt. I believe I prefer the other songs if that is what you create on your own.”

“Oh, you are just rude. You like none of my gifts.” Seren sulked at her but in her tone she kept no anger. She could see it, even as Morrigan kept her face out of view; a smile hid under hand, daring to beam brighter than the fire between them.

“You’ve given few which were praiseworthy,” She said and then she moved her head towards her and yes, now, she could see Morrigan’s smile. It was a slight, unsure thing—shy if Seren didn’t know who she was speaking with. She hesitated in what she said next, unsure of the words “…but, thank you for…trying.”

Seren’s face felt warm, in her ears she could hear the beat of her own heart, somewhat at a loss for words. Then, she felt herself melt and gently she said, “…Mm. One day I’ll get better and try again, yes?”

Morrigan’s smile stretched a little wider, became a little more certain, allowing just a little more tenderness to slip out. “Hm, if that tis your desire.” She said as she got to her feet, brushing the dust from her knees. “I will retire now, before the moon draws higher. Try not sing too loud lest the darkspawn hear.”

Seren laughed, “If they do, they will surely be cleansed by such a beautiful sound.” Then she looked up at Morrigan and felt her lips tingle. She wanted more—more time, more words, more unhidden smiles. If only she could reach out and take that hand of hers, pull her down and ask for more time to think of a better song.

But she couldn’t—Morrigan was as intangible as the shadows she enjoyed lingering in. The more light she tried to put upon her, the less she would have her shade. She already had so little as it was. So, she let her hands rest on her sword and stone and said to her instead, “Good night, Morri. Sleep well.”

A pause, and then “…and you, Seren,” and she was gone, the shadows enveloping her until there was nothing except the black and stillness of the night. Seren stared into it for a while, her eyes using the light to form the memory of Morrigan’s smile, her laugh, and the way she said her name. But once the silence came, Seren went back to her work, stripping the layers of metal from the blade until that irritating little line faded into nothing.

Hours later, Alistair would awaken and come fumbling out of bed, following the sound of her singing. “ _Witch of the Wilds…come away with me for a while…take my hand, let me see you smile…”_

“What are you singing?” He would ask and Seren would only shrug her shoulders as she stared at the firelight and said, “Just a gift I’m working on.”


End file.
